


Aptly Damned

by technicolorCarbon



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Bullying, M/M, homofeels, probably not gonna continue this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolorCarbon/pseuds/technicolorCarbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>--</p>
<p>I went through a bullied!John phase. It didn't end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aptly Damned

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for general quality. This piece is actually kind of old, because I'm going through my writing blog and posting things straight to here, and I hadn't quite got a very good grasp on characterization or anything yet.
> 
> And yet I'm still posting it...

The first day John comes home with a visible injury is the first day in a month that Dave has been there before 11 at night.

John’s not expecting anyone to be home, much less Dave, and he quickly ducks into the kitchen to avoid his sharp eyes.

He wouldn’t be Dave if he didn’t realize something was up.

“Egbutt?” He says as he leans against the doorframe. All he can see of his best friend is a denim-clad butt and pale legs poking out from under his shorts.

“Uh… Yeah?” His voice is calm and level, something he’s incredibly proud of.

“Dude, can you come out of the fridge?”

John grimaces, but obeys, cradling a head of lettuce and some carrots as he straightens. Somehow, he manages to keep the right side of his face away from Dave, even as he grabs the cutting board and a knife.

Dave takes a few steps and leans against the counter next to John instead of the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at him. “Way to not greet me, bro. I’m hurt.”

Translation: _What’s going on?_

John snorts softly and drops the lettuce and carrots into the sink, turning on the water. He’s not sure he can speak again yet.

Dave takes his silence oddly, and drops the casual act. “Something wrong?”

“Why are you home?” John blurts, barely restraining the automatic urge to look directly at him..

Dave’s eyebrows move together and up, and John really hopes he didn’t hurt him.

“Figured I should be home at least once thie month. And today may as well be the one day.”

He shuts off the tap, gently shaking the excess water out of the lettuce head and off of the carrots. He’s truly curious now, instead of just dodging a question. “Is there something special about today?”

Dave’s staring at him like he’s grown two heads. “Are you kidding? Are you sick or something?” He rests the back of his hand on John’s forehead, only half-mockingly checking his temperature. “Amnesia. Severe head trauma? Brain damage. I know! You’re not really John! You’re some alien body snatcher hiding inside his skull, just pretending to be my best bro, and in the middle of the night, you’ll get up and kill us all!”

He laughs and bats his hand away. “Dude. Come on. If anyone’s been body-snatched, it’s you. I mean, have you seen your room? It’s clean!”

Dave laughs too, snagging a carrot as he cuts it. “Well no shit, Sherlock. I haven’t been in there in, like, three weeks.”

John smacks his hand with the flat of the blade. “Liar. You were in there last night.”

“Pff. Same thing. Either way, I haven’t been there long enough to do shit all.”

John rolls his eyes and resumes cutting the vegetables, then asks again. “But seriously, what’s so special about today?”

Dave leans back on the countertop, elbows supporting him. “April 13th.” Something seems familiar about the date, but John’s mind remains completely blank until Dave deadpans and says softly, “Bro, it’s your birthday.”

John’s lip resplits when he laughs this time, but he doesn’t notice until a miniscule droplet of blood hits the back of his hand. He glances down and freezes, tongue darting out to wipe off his lip and part of his chin. He twists his hand to wipe it on his shirt, but Dave sees and catches his wrist and goes silent.

“John.”

John squeezes his eyes shut, wincing slightly, then opens them and looks at Dave, knowing there’s no avoiding it now. Dave swears and drops his hand, then rests two of his fingers under John’s chin and tilts his face up.

“What the hell happened?”

John shakes his head gently, trying to communicate that it wasn’t worth it without speaking, but Dave presses on determinedly. “John, what the fuck? Who did this?”

He turns, brushing Dave’s hand away, and rests his back against the counter, marble corner digging painfully into his spine. “Some guy at school.”

“Which one, John?” His voice is taut, strained with anger, and John avoids looking at him for fear that the anger will be directed at him.

“How long has this been going on?”

John bites his lip –not the split part, the opposite side,- and speaks in a whisper. “This is the first time I’ve been hit.”

He grabs John’s shoulder, turns him so they’re face-to-face, and shoves his shades up to look him in the eyes. “John, _how. Long._ ”

He wants to look away, but he can’t. “A year.”

Something in Dave’s expression makes him look like he’s about to snap, and John starts babbling before he can stop himself.

“But it’s okay, ‘cause this is the first time anybody at school’s hit me, and I’m sure he had a good reason, and he seemed kinda upset before so I guess he was just having a bad day, and maybe it wasn’t all his fault because I guess I’m kinda annoying sometimes, and he told me to shut up but I guess I said something again and then he hit me, and it hurt but not really, and I split my lip when I hit the desk, and then he was gone when I opened my eyes again-“

“John. Shut up.”

His mouth snaps closed mid-sentence, half-begun dinner on the counter forgotten. Dave’s eyes are wild, and John feels like running and hiding.

“You’re _defending_ him! John, he _hit_ you! You don’t _do_ that shit to people, even if they are annoying! And _nobody_ fucking hits _you_!” He clenches his fists, and John places a tentative calming hand on his.

“Dave,” he says softly, swiping another trickle of blood from his chin with the back of his free hand. “It’s fine. I don’t mind. And it’s not hurting anybody.”

He stiffens, pulling his hand out from under John’s. “It’s hurting you.”

John closes his eyes and leans back again, shaking his head. “Maybe he needs it. Or maybe I deserve it.”

When he opens his eyes again, Dave is gone.


End file.
